


Anonymous

by womanroaring



Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-12
Updated: 2015-01-12
Packaged: 2018-03-07 05:48:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3163517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/womanroaring/pseuds/womanroaring
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sarah goes off to college and starts receiving “anonymous” advent calendars. </p><p>Both "chapters" are short stories written for the "Tis the Season" challenge (number 20) in the Labyfic community on LiveJournal. The first is completely G-rated and quite self-contained in case anyone would like to just read that bit and skip the second, since it's the second that contains the "mature" content.</p><p>Chapter one word count: 1302</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The advent calendars started arriving on December 1, her first year of college.

Sarah wondered so many times, why. Why that year. Maybe he had waited until she was out of her father’s house, to show that her brother was no longer any part of this. Maybe he had finally worked out the age of consent in her state. Maybe he’d been giving her a few years to consider her ordeal or maybe he’d been waiting all those years for her to contact him, and when she didn’t, he decided to … what? Win her over with presents?

Regardless of his reasons, every year, the rectangular box would come wrapped in a spangly royal blue cloth with an elegant light grey ribbon, or a grey cloth and a blue ribbon, which left her in no doubt who they were from. The ribbon was always tied in an elegant bow and in the centre, there was always some sort of jewel or ornament; a brooch, a gold hair comb. One year it was a pendant, with a ruby bigger than Sarah’s thumbnail. The next year it was one pearl drop earring, in a very elegant and expensive-looking pinkey grey, which looked fantastic with her colouring but which she wasn’t sure what to do with until its mate arrived the year after.

Those earrings were like a little display of wit; an acknowledgement that there would be an “anonymous” box again the year after, to provide her with the pair.

It was never a ring. 

There had never even been any rings in the advent calendars. These were magnificent, in and of themselves -- carved wooden boxes with small drawers numbered for every day, each with a little treat inside. Scraps of strange poetry, clever riddles, small sketches or paintings of nature scenes. Opened and polished geodes of various colours. Sugar plums, chocolate-covered nuts, a bag of candied violets. Spiced biscuits with jam inside. Beautiful trinkets like minuscule blown glass animals (the teeny tiny swan was her favourite, closely followed by the elephant). A miniature, eight-note harmonica that turned out to be quite hard, but lots of fun, to play, and another year, a tiny finger harp. Pretty feathers or shells or bits of coral. Air plants. An old coin that she suspected could have paid her tuition for a year or more, should she decide to sell it.

But even though she could have done with the money, she never sold a thing. She kept everything -- well, except the food, obviously. But not in the boxes. They were lined up at the back of her desk, holding pens and paper clips and earrings. When she moved out of dorms into her own little flat, her first year of grad school, she started using one of them as a spice cabinet, next to the stove, and another to hold all her different teas, next to the kettle. 

She loved them. 

One year the present in the ribbon had been an empty charm bracelet and then each day’s drawer had revealed a new charm for it. It had taken every ounce of her willpower not to open them all at once. They were beautiful -- some were wrought metal depictions of trees and leaves and flowers, and some were beads in what looked like Venetian glass, and some were carved stones: a deep blue lapis sphere shot through with pyrite; a heart in rose quartz and another of garnet; a leaf of jade; a jet bead carved with some sort of infinity knot. 

Sarah never actually opened the 25th drawer on Christmas Day itself, since she went home for Christmas every year and never took the heavy, mysterious box with her. Each year she looked forward to opening that final drawer when she got back; but the wait was hard that year, particularly with her new bracelet on her wrist, and one space to go, and still no sign of the man himself. 

When she got home on the 27th, she found the Christmas charm was a filigree sphere, set with moonstones, a beautiful thing that made her pulse start pounding in her throat as she held it in her hand that first time.

The initial present was never a ring; until that next year, it was. An ancient-looking band set with what appeared to be a lock of blond hair under a clear crystal of some kind. Sarah would have wondered what on earth it was but she had just read Sense and Sensibility for a literature class. One of the characters had given her fiancé a lock of her hair set in a ring, as a love token. Apparently it had been quite common at one point.

Sarah wondered if Jareth knew that she had just read it. The thought didn’t bother her. She was a woman in her mid-20s and by now she had received seven boxes. They had been the only sign that Jareth even still existed. The only contact that he had made.

She considered the ring for weeks. Before putting it on. 

Nothing happened. 

It was kind of anti-climactic. 

Particularly since so far, that year’s presents had been … romantic. Vials of exquisite perfumes and oils. A sprig of mistletoe (she hung this over the door to her balcony, rather than her front door -- she didn’t hand out kisses to just anyone). Rose petals. Chocolates. Saffron, for some reason. A very fancy version of her favourite variety of tea in a miniature chest. A gold locket. A pocket mirror in a beautifully enameled case. A small, perfect, dark red apple, which turned out to be the best she had ever tasted. A gold paper crown, which would have just been a silly reference to a Christmas cracker if a king hadn’t given it to her. 

She got in her car for the four-hour drive home on December 24, with her heart in her throat and her mind on the one unopened drawer she had left back in her apartment. That Christmas was a distracted one, with her wondering if she was reading this year’s box wrong, if she had read all the boxes wrong, if he was waiting for something … oh, so many ifs.

She got home on the 27th at her usual time, around sunset, having refused to leave her family’s home early just to open a drawer. She did, however, open said drawer before unpacking or even taking off her shoes once she got inside. 

A delicate tiara was inside, set with diamonds and moonstones. It uncurled and sprang open, as she pulled it out of the drawer. 

It was stunning.

But this, she did not put on. 

Sarah set it on the table next to the now-empty carved box and looked at it, wondering what it implied and wondering even harder why the damned goblin hadn’t shown himself. Surely kings don’t just give out love tokens and crowns to women for no reason. 

She wandered out onto her balcony to look at the fading sunset. Maybe she was missing something.

“I put the ring on,” she said aloud, but quietly, mostly to herself. “Where are you?”

Then it clicked. She needed the right words.

Well, what the hell were they?

Sarah played with her new ring in a frustrated sort of way, wondering if he had given her some clue as to what they might be.

Nothing came to her.

“I want to see you,” she said softly, into the night, and then turned to go back inside.

But there he was.

Sarah did not fail to notice that despite his casual posture as he lounged against the doorframe, he’d positioned himself directly below the mistletoe.

She wondered if she hadn’t put it there for that exact purpose. 

And it turned out he was an exceptionally fine kisser.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Word Count: 964

Sarah had been kissing the goblin king for quite some time on her balcony. She was actually starting to feel slightly dizzy.

When he had appeared shamelessly under the mistletoe, all tactile clothing and knowing eyes, he and Sarah had looked at each other for a moment -- and then he had raised an eyebrow towards it.

“Well,” she had said, trying not to smile (and failing), “I suppose it _is_ traditional.”

And she had reached for him before he could say or do anything to spoil it.

_We’re in trouble,_ the last cogent part of her brain thought. _This is it. This is_ that _kiss._

_What?_ The rest of her brain mumbled.

_This is the kiss they talk about, the one that you remember for the rest of your life as the best kiss you ever had. This is the kiss that you think about bittersweetly after the affair is over._

Despite these terrifying thoughts, however, Sarah could have stayed kissing him for hours; except that it was so cold on the balcony, and she was starting to be self-conscious about the fact that that’s where they were -- on a balcony. In plain view of the road, not to mention her neighbours.

Jareth started kissing along her jawline and down her neck at that point, giving her an opportunity to let out a breathy laugh, turning her head to catch his eye.

“I think we’ve worn out this sprig of mistletoe,” she said, managing to worm a good half-inch away from him. 

He looked at her for a heartbeat or two and then gestured with his hand that she should look up.

The entire doorway was now festooned with the stuff.

A little laugh burst out of her.

“I more meant that we should maybe continue this conversation inside, out of the cold and away from prying eyes.”

Jareth dipped his head in a gracious manner and moved minutely out of the way so that she could go in first. He didn’t actually really let go of her at all and then he went to kiss her again as she finished closing the door.

Sarah ducked slightly, putting her fingers on his mouth and pulling herself together.

“So?” she said. “Are you going to explain?”

“Explain what, Sarah?”

They were the first words he had spoken. She had forgotten quite how good his voice sounded.

Her brain tried to go mostly blank again. _Stop that_ , she told it.

“The _advent calenders_ ,” she said doggedly, but she couldn’t help smiling a little. “What were they supposed to be?”

He mirrored her smile but didn’t speak for a beat or two, seemingly choosing his words. “Reparations,” he finally said. “An apology. Tokens of my continued esteem and regard,” he said, stroking her neck, just above the ruby pendant at her throat.

“Attention seeking. Courting presents,” he said, raising her hand and kissing her finger now, just below her new ring and looking at her coyly through his lashes.

“And the terribly crown-like tiara?” Sarah asked, trying to remember if anyone had ever kissed her fingers quite like that before and deciding that even if they had, it hardly mattered.

 “A betrothal gift,” he said, delicately.

Sarah laughed. “I see. And you expected me to just accept such a thing, and everything that would go along with it? After ten years without seeing you?”

Jareth leaned forward. “Sarah, I’m in love with you,” he murmured just above her ear, before running his tongue around it like a feather. It was like electricity shot down her neck, into her spine and out to her extremities. “I wish you to be by my side as my queen,” he added, placing a kiss carefully under her jaw, “and I want you in my bed.”

“Well, I’m going to have to think about that first wish,” she said.

“I can work with that,” he said, and hoisted her up in his arms, carrying her to her bedroom like a bride being carried over a threshold.

“What are you doing?” Sarah spluttered. “I didn’t say anything about the second bit yet!”

“Exactly. Apparently it’s not something that you need to think about it,” he said, placing her on her bed and starting to remove her shoes, distracting her with not only the intimacy of the gesture but also the grace of its execution. Again, she found herself thinking that from now on, no man would ever remove her shoes as well as he just had. “What’s unsaid can also be said, Sarah,” he added, running a hand slowly up the side of one leg while kissing along the outside of her other knee.

“You know, we have this thing now called active consent,” she said, more breathily than she meant to, but still somehow driven to challenge him. “It’s considered necessary _and_ sexy to have your partner _say_ that they definitely want to be there.”

“Well, if that’s the way it is done,” he said, slipping his jacket and then his shirt off in two light shrugging movements. Undressed, he was all long, lean limbs and perfect skin. He looked slighter, which would have made him less threatening, except that he also looked more _other_. Sarah’s breathing hitched as he leaned over her.

“Sarah,” he murmured into her neck, and her eyes closed on their own as she exhaled at the sound of her name on his lips. “Would you like to make love with me on this night?”

She opened her eyes and smirked at him. “Oh, all right then.”

Jareth narrowed his eyes at her. “I am so pleased that we paused matters for that necessary, sexy affirmation of your enthusiasm for this situation.”

Sarah responded non-verbally.

Jareth made no more sarcastic remarks about her lack of enthusiasm.

 


End file.
